


Where the Heart Is

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, Because Kaká/Milan was always bound to happen, But otherwise it fits, Kaká leaving Real a year early, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaká doesn’t want to leave Cris, but there are times when love alone just isn’t enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during the summer 2012 transfer window when the rumours about Kaká’s return to Milan began escalating and intended to post it only if the transfer actually happened. And then I thought, what the hell, I can always call it an AU if he ends up staying in Real (which he did, for one more year anyways). So, there you go.

Cristiano corners Kaká when he is emptying his locker in Valdebebas.  
  
Kaká cannot say he is surprised: he has been purposefully avoiding this meeting since the team returned from the US. Since it became obvious that his deal with Milan would really come true.  
  
“So you’re leaving, for real?”  
  
Not really a question, more like a statement. Cristiano’s voice is dripping with so much sadness and accusation that Kaká has no heart to tell him that at this point the transfer is anything but against his will.  
  
“Yeah,” he answers instead, needlessly, as he busies himself with the photos on the inside of his locker door: one of his family, one of last year’s Real Madrid squad, one of himself and Cristiano with their arms wrapped securely around each other – and one of himself with his old teammates back in Milan, mere months before he was forced to leave and come to Madrid.  
  
He has learned to keep the waves of nostalgia at bay by now, but Cristiano still catches the briefest of looks that flashes on his face. Maybe the thought of return has made his control slip.  
  
“You’re actually  _happy_  to leave, aren’t you? To go back to your precious fucking Italy?” Cristiano’s voice is nothing but a hiss now, so full of betrayal and barely concealed anger that it makes Kaká flinch. For Cristiano, no reason would be good enough for him to leave Real – to leave him.  
  
But Kaká is not Cristiano.  
  
“It’s not that simple, Cris,” he replies in a firm tone, but unable to look him in the eye, too afraid of the feelings he would see there, “I’m leaving because I’ve got no other choice.”  
  
“There’s always a choice!” Cristiano all but yells, desperate to disagree even though he is well aware of the falsity of his statement: every professional footballer knows that once the team management decides to get rid of you, there is not much you can do to stop it. There are times when the only choice left is between going down in disgrace or damage control.  
  
“Couldn’t you talk to Florentino one last time? Or José? Offer them the same pay cut you’re accepting for Milan?” he continues in a more subdued tone when Kaká offers him no answer. He is fighting a losing battle and he knows it.  
  
“It’s not that simple,” Kaká repeats after a moment of silence, his voice barely more than a whisper now, “It’s not just about the money – it never was – and you know it.”  
  
He cannot tell Cristiano that Milan is the only team for which he is willing to make such huge sacrifices – cutting his wages in half, leaving the La Liga champions to play for a team that is struggling both economically and structurally, and most of all, leaving  _Cristiano_. He cannot admit that as much as he loves Real, Milan will always hold the first place in his heart.  
  
Had it been his choice, he would never have left the Italian club in the first place. He does not regret it – at least not anymore – because if he had not come to Madrid, he would never have met Cristiano and all the other players he has learned to love in the course of the last three years.  
  
But it was in Milan where he grew into the person he is today; where he was at the top of his game; where he had wanted to play until the end of his career. He had honestly thought that door had closed for good when he transferred to Real.  
  
He is still holding the discriminating photo in his hand, and he drops it on top of the others as soon as he notices this. It is all in the past, and he knows this time will not be the same: the team is different, the coach is different,  _he_  is different.   
  
In Italy he will not have Cristiano by his side, either – he will be on his own, just like he was when he first came to Europe all those years ago.  
  
But he believes it is worth the gamble, especially when staying in Real Madrid is not an option anymore. And he will still have his family, no matter where he goes.  
  
The anger in Cristiano’s features subsides as the silence between them stretches, and it is replaced by the heartbreaking vulnerability he will never show in public.  
  
“I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispers, his voice breaking, and it is more than enough to make Kaká feel like crying too. It is almost enough to make him reconsider his decision.  
  
He pulls Cristiano in a soft, hesitant kiss, not sure whether he is allowed to do it anymore. Cristiano offers no resistance, but it takes a while before he finally parts his own lips, returning the kiss reluctantly.  
  
The moment seems to drag forever, and yet it feels all too soon when they pull apart.  
  
“You’re not gonna lose me,” he tells Cristiano, their foreheads pressed together, “It’s only Italy, not the end of the world.”  
  
He is uncertain whether the words are meant to reassure Cristiano or himself, but they seem to fall short on both accounts.   
  
They are both professional footballers, among the best in the world: they are very much aware of the difficulties that upholding a relationship in their situation holds, even when there is no long distance messing things up even more. They have been together for over two years now, and even though they play for the same team, the quality time with just the two of them has been scarce from the beginning.   
  
It is the price they have to pay: the time off from the club activities divided between their friends, each other, and their respective families – with the latter always taking the priority, of course.  
  
If Cristiano follows the same line of thought, he makes no mention of it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Kaká’s waist and presses another lingering kiss on his lips. Kaká can feel the wetness on his cheeks and it breaks his heart all over again.  
  
“I’m so  _so_  sorry,” he whispers against the soft lips as he caresses Cristiano’s face with nimble fingers, wiping away the traitorous tears, pressing gentle pecks on his lips between every word. The cheesiness of it all makes a laugh bubble in his chest; Cristiano actually lets out a chuckle and proceeds to wipe his own eyes to stop further tears from falling.  
  
“You should be,” he retorts and punches Kaká in the arm, “You’re gonna get so fat and unsexy on all that Italian food.”  
  
It makes Kaká laugh out loud. If Cristiano can joke around in a situation like this, maybe they will be able to make it after all.  
  
“Talk for yourself, what’re you gonna do without me looking after your fitness?”  
  
They share a moment of comfortable laughter, hands still on each other’s bodies, faces only inches apart. For a second Kaká actually forgets that his life is practically crumbling down all around him.  
  
“I love you, Cris,” he says solemnly once they both have grown silent again.   
  
It is not something he has made a habit of saying – it actually took him more than a year into their relationship to voice his feelings like this for the first time – but at this moment it feels like the most natural thing to say. It is the truth and he needs Cristiano to know it too. He is leaving the team, yes, but it does not mean he has to leave Cristiano as well.  
  
Their private moment is interrupted when a group of their teammates barges into the locker room, insistent on making their farewells too.   
  
Suddenly Marcelo is banging Kaká’s back, telling him not to get fat (figures the joke has spread all around the team before he heard it for the first time); Iker gives him a long hug and tells him he will be missed ( _“Because really, what the hell I’m gonna do with these idiots with the sole voice of reason gone from the team?”_ ); Mesut reminds him that they might well end up facing each other in the Champions League.  
  
“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you out there, fatty,” Cristiano interjects with a mischievous smile. He is still right by Kaká’s side, never quite breaking the physical contact.  
  
As the ruckus around them quiets down, Cristiano takes a chance to rest his head on Kaká’s shoulder.  
  
“I love you too, Ricardo,” he whispers, his breath warm on Kaká’s ear. Only his parents usually call him by his given name, and even then it always used to make him feel like he had done something wrong. With everyone else, it has always been just Kaká or Ricky.  
  
On Cristiano’s lips the name transforms into something more private, like that one word alone could hold all the feelings between them. Hearing it makes Kaká’s breath hitch and his heart skip a beat, and it is all he can do not to kiss Cristiano right then and there in front of their teammates.  
  
It is said that home is where the heart is. Kaká is not quite sure whether he agrees with the sentiment, because there are several places he thinks of as home: Brazil, Spain, Italy... Is it really possible to divide your heart into so many pieces?  
  
At least he feels like he is leaving his whole heart behind as he boards the place bound for Milan – leaving Cristiano behind in the airport, the striker’s cool demeanour hiding the pain Kaká knows is hiding just below the surface.  
  
And yet, when he arrives at Milan and is faced with the familiar streets, familiar premises, and the welcoming arms of the  _rossoneri_  players and fans alike, he feels more at home than he ever did back in Madrid.  
  
He does not mention this to Cristiano when they talk over the phone later that night, but he has a nagging feeling that he knows it nonetheless.


End file.
